


The Day of the Dead

by almonster



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-28
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-10 08:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1157100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almonster/pseuds/almonster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The day it after it ended. Started? Both. The day after the night the war ended, his loneliness began.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Day of the Dead

He awoke to owls and magic in the sky, like fireworks. The mid-day sun glared at Remus despite the dirt coating the windows and he had to shut his eyes again before he could get his bearings. 

Eventually he made his way out of the shack he’d hidden himself in for the night, holding his ragged robes close—they’d been feeling more draughty as autumn progressed.. maybe he’d finally take Prongs up on that offer to split the cost of a new set.

— Maybe he’d owl Pete, instead.

Remus tensed up as he thought of his friends, a shiver working its way down his spine. This Order work was maddening, he missed his mates despite the cracks of paranoia that had forced their way between them all. What good was it, fighting for the same side—for  _good_ —if all it did was push them apart?

 

Unexpectedly, an ecstatic witch, for she couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything else, bounced into him, causing a deep scowl.

His furry little hangover had yet to dissipate.

— She squeaked and it reminded him of Wormtail.

"Terribly sorry," she was babbling, grin returning in full force as she spotted the wand half out of his pocket—constant vigilance, wasn’t it. "I just  _can’t_  believe it’s  _finally_  done! Over!” His scowl turned to a look of absolute confusion, and she realised she’d have to elaborate. “You-know-who!” she exclaimed as if he was completely daft. “He’s  _gone_.” She’d gone breathless, still in shock. “And  _Harry Potter’s_  the one who’s done it! Or, that’s what my sister, Hettie, keeps going on about. But I said to her, I said—”

"Sorry?" he had to interrupt. Her words were  _absurd_. Harry? Little Harry beat you-know-who? He wasn’t even a year and a half,  _there was no way…_

The witch had turned solemn then. “It’s a shame though, orphaned so young… and Sirius Black the one to give the Potters all up, those poor—” 

— His heart stopped. There was no other explanation for it. Stricken, Remus disapparated on the spot leaving the woman mid-sentence. He couldn’t bear to hear anymore. Lies.

That’s all it was.

She was lying to him. Had been lulling him into some false sense of security before some death eating bastard stunned him from behind.

 

— Seconds later, Remus appeared at the current headquarters of the Order. The Prewett’s old place. But it was empty.

No.

He refused to believe her. —

He apparated to Godric’s Hollow next.

Just because the Potter’s house had the Fidelius Charm cast on it, didn’t mean he couldn’t call for his friends, right? Just because they were soundproofed to him didn’t mean the world outside their cottage would be for them. Right?

 

Remus had hardly landed before he took off down the streets in the general direction of the Potters’, only to skid to a stop; horrified.

He blinked and then brought his hands up to rub the image from his eyes because surely,  _surely_ , what he was seeing was some awful illusion. But when he opened his eyes, the ruins hadn’t faded.

He was going to be sick.

— He  _was_  sick. Wiping the corner of his mouth, he wandered aimlessly until he found himself in the centre of town. 

_James and Lily_  were  _dead_. And it was Sirius’ fault. Peter was blasted into pieces. And  _Sirius_  had done it.

And Remus was alone and struck with a sick sense of guilt. 

It should be him, not the Potters and Wormtail. Why wasn’t it  _him_. He was the only monster of them all!

— No. Not the only monster. Not so long as  _Black_  was alive. 

 

What he wouldn’t give, to tear the bastard limb from—no.  _No._  He was better than that. Remus wasn’t a traitor. A  _murderer_. Werewolf or not, he’d rather die for his friends than give them up.

He hoped he’d  _rot_  in Azkaban for his betrayal.

— Maybe he was better off, without Sirius, at the very least.

Alone.

 

Remus turned on the spot, reappearing moments later outside a muggle pub. He’d be alone tomorrow. For now though, he’d forget them all and raise a glass.

_"Here’s to the boy who lived."_


End file.
